


Brave

by SomeRainMustFall



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Domestic Violence, Gen, Gil and Jackie are Malcolm's real parents part 2, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jessica dating someone she shouldn't, Physical Abuse, implied threat of sexual abuse but nothing is actually said or done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23448142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall
Summary: Anytime. Gil had given him his card, told him he could call him anytime.Malcolm's phone broke tonight. His head hurts too much to remember where the nearest payphone is. So instead he takes a taxi across town to visit him, and hopes he won't mind.xMalcolm's in trouble, and Gil's there to help.
Comments: 35
Kudos: 208





	Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Discord Prompt! Pls enjoy :3

Anytime. Gil had given him his card, told him he could call him anytime.

Malcolm's phone broke tonight. His head hurts too much to remember where the nearest payphone is. So instead he takes a taxi across town to visit him, and hopes he won't mind.

"I’m—I’m—uh—I-I’m looking for Lieutenant Arroyo, please.”

The woman looks Malcolm over as he stands, up on his tip-toes at the front desk of the precinct. “Do you need to report a crime, kid?” 

Malcolm feels his cheeks flush as he dips his head, hair falling to cover the dark bruise across his left temple. “U-um, no...”

He can’t imagine how odd it is to have a thirteen-year-old kid coming in near ten at night to _not_ report a crime. The woman tsks her tongue critically, then says, “Well, then, I’m afraid he’s busy.”

"I just...I just need to talk to him,” Malcolm says. “It’s an emer—it’s just important. Please. I'll wait. Just...let him know I'm here, okay?”

“And who are you to the Lieutenant?"

Malcolm looks at her desperately, and says, “My name's Malcolm. He knows me. I’m his friend."

The woman sighs heavily, then gestures at the seats in the hall. "Sure. I'll let him know. Can't promise anything."

"Th-that's okay. I can wait." Malcolm sits down, bouncing his leg, and cringes under the looks he keeps getting, reaching up to cover the bruise with his hair.

He waits.

And waits.

And eventually, he sees him.

"Gil!" 

"Kid," Gil murmurs, kneeling down in front of him and grasping his arms. "Kid, what's wrong? What're you doing here? Oh, hell—" He reaches up to cup Malcolm's cheek, turning his head to look at the bruise. "What happened?"

Malcolm whimpers, pulling away. "It's nothing. I just need to—to stay with you tonight, okay? Is that—is that okay?" 

"Malcolm..."

"Please." His voice cracks, and he's on the verge of tears, even despite making sure he cried them all out before entering the building. " _Please_ _._ "

Gil's brows pinch together, and then he nods. "Yeah. Okay, alright. Just—just until we can call your mom, and—"

Malcolm's hand grasps his wrist, and he chokes out, "You can't."

Gil softens even more, cupping Malcolm's chin. "Did she hurt you?" 

Malcolm shakes his head. "No. But I don't—I don't wanna talk about it. Please, Gil. You promised. You said if I ever needed you—"

"I know, kid. Come here. Let's get out of here." Gil picks him up to rest on his hip, and Malcolm buries his face into Gil's shoulder, listens to him say he's taking off for the night and then curling closer when they get outside.

"Kid, it's _freezing._ You don't even have a coat on!" 

"I needed to talk to you," Malcolm mumbles against Gil's jacket. "I just...don't know how." 

Gil unlocks his car, slides Malcolm in, and takes off his jacket, helping Malcolm's tiny arms into it and buttoning it up the front before closing the door and getting in the other side.

Malcolm immediately latches onto him, shivering, and looks up. He must look as scared as he is, because as soon as Gil starts the car, cranking the heat, he's hugging Malcolm close again.

"What, Malcolm? You have to tell me what happened."

"I don't want you to be mad," Malcolm says, lowering his head. "I just...something happened, but it's okay. Okay? It was just…"

"It was just what?" He reaches to stroke the hair out of Malcolm's face, really looking at the bruise before Malcolm squirms away and turns towards the window. 

"It's from school," he says.

“It’s Saturday, and that's fresh," Gil tells him. "I can see. Tell me who hurt you."

"I fell," Malcolm tries again. "Please."

Gil's about to respond, when Malcolm's stomach growls, making the boy wince and curl into himself just a little more. 

"You're hungry?" Gil asks, and Malcolm nods.

"I didn’t..." he stops himself, because he’s not allowed to admit that. It’s going to get him in trouble. _More_ trouble. “Yeah. Just a little.”

Gil pulls the car out of the lot, and asks, “What do you want? Anything. My treat. We’ll talk there.”

They won’t. They _can’t._ But Malcolm’s not going to say no, because he’s hungry far more than just a little. He tries to quell it, though, to not make it so obvious, and simply says, “Ice cream?”

Gil smiles. “Sure. I know a place.”

Malcolm smiles, for the first time in a while, and leans against him as he drives them there.

Safe. He feels safe. Gil is safe. Perhaps the only safety he has, these days.

**x**

Over his sundae, the one he’s trying to eat slowly and not devour in thirty seconds flat, Malcolm can see Gil is still staring at the bruise he thought he’d brushed his hair down to cover again. Goddamn. He’d seen it in the mirror just seconds after receiving it, but it must look worse now.

Gil doesn’t say anything, reaching for another french fry from the plate in front of them. “How’s school? Keeping up with your classes?”

Malcolm wipes his nose on his sleeve and nods. “Yeah, mostly,” he says. That way it’s not a lie. Mostly didn’t mean completely. 

“That’s good.” He smiles, tilting his head, and Malcolm shoves another spoonful of hot fudge and oreo crumbles in his mouth, trying not to groan. It tastes so _good,_ he hasn’t eaten since—

“Are you okay, kid?” Gil finally asks, and Malcolm clears his throat, swallowing too soon, not able to enjoy it as much as he wanted to. 

“I’m...pretty fine.”

“Pretty fine,” Gil says, sipping at his mug of coffee. “That’s comforting. Really.” 

“I think…” He glances around, and leans a little closer. “I think you should...l-leave it alone, okay?”

Gil frowns, and Malcolm knows it was the wrong thing to say. Gil brushes his hands together, clearly done with any sort of casual snacking as if this is just another night, and leans on the table with one elbow. 

“Malcolm,” he says slowly, “are you in danger?”

Malcolm chokes. Crunches a piece of cookie between his teeth and swallows it down. 

He’s not allowed to answer that. He’s not allowed. He _can’t._

“Kid.” Gil reaches out, takes the sundae glass away, and Malcolm nearly sobs. “You need to tell me. What’s going on? Who hurt you?”

“I fell,” he whispers, tears in his eyes, and sets his spoon down. “I just fell, G-Gil, please…”

Gil keeps pressing. Malcolm never should have come. “Did someone push you?” 

Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut against the tears, and then claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise that involuntarily slips out. 

“No—” he tries, but Gil already knows. 

He knows, and his face twists up in a sudden fury that scares the hell out of Malcolm, makes him panic and scramble out of the booth, running out of the diner.

“Kid!” 

He runs, keeps going, until he hits Gil’s car, yanking the door open and diving into the backseat, curling into himself.

And then he starts to cry, because he’s been holding it back too long, far too long, maybe forever. He cries, burying his face in his hands, and then gasps and chokes and tries to go quiet when the door opens.

“Malcolm—” Gil says, and then Malcolm starts to sob again, far louder. 

“Oh, kid...oh, God, kid. Please tell me what’s wrong. Please. Do we need to call the police?”

“You are the police!” Malcolm whimpers. “You are! I c-came to you!”

Gil closes the door, rests his arms against the seat to look down at him, and Malcolm covers his head to avoid his gaze.

“You came to me,” Gil says. “You did. Thank you. Thank you, Malcolm. That was really, really brave of you. Okay? I just...I just need to know _why._ I need to know what happened, so I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Malcolm coughs, finally glancing up at him. “You—y-you can...do that?” he asks. “You promise?”

“ _Kid,_ ” Gil says. “I made sure your dad couldn’t hurt anyone else, didn’t I? I can do a lot more now. You know that. I’m not just an officer anymore. I can do what I need to, especially when it comes to protecting you.”

“Gil,” he whimpers, reaching up, and Gil gives him his hand. “G-Gil, I...I can’t…”

Gil closes his eyes, then opens them again, only halfway. “Malcolm…please. You need to tell me. There’s no reason to be scared anymore, okay?” He squeezes Malcolm’s hand tight and says, “I’ve got you.”

It breaks Malcolm’s final wall down, and he wails, “He hurt me!” 

“Who? Who hurt you? What happened?”

“My mom’s—”

“Your mom?”

“No! Not her!” He rubs at his eyes, and sits up, and drags Gil’s hand up to his cheek, nuzzling against it. “S-someone else. Someone she...someone she’s... _seeing,_ I think. But—but he’s mean, Gil. He’s mean, and I d-don’t like him, and he doesn’t like me. Please, Gil, you can’t—you can’t tell.”

“Why not?” 

“Because he told me he’d kill me!” Malcolm blurts out, and then gasps, flinging himself back against the seat and covering his mouth. “No, Gil—Gil, I’m sorry, don’t be mad! You look mad, don’t be mad! Please!”

“ _Malcolm,_ ” Gil says, letting his face go to a relatively neutral expression again that does nothing to make Malcolm feel any better. “Malcolm, I’m not mad at you! Oh, kid...kid, I’m not. I’m not. Please, don’t cry anymore.”

“I can’t st-stop,” Malcolm says. “I’m tryin’. I’m tryin’. I can’t. He—he...Gil, he did...he...my mom’s...she’s drunk! She’s d-drunk and she—she never notices anything, not ever, and he—he wouldn’t let me eat today, because he told me I was _bad_ for telling her not to take what he gave her! He gave her pills, gave her stuff that made her go to sleep, and—and I don’t like when she takes his stuff! It makes me think she’s dead.”

“Malcolm—where’s Ainsley?”

“She’s safe,” Malcolm says. “She’s with the lady who always takes care of her when Mom’s like that, but...he—he said—” He puts his head down. “He said she’s good, anyways. I’m the only bad one. I’m bad ‘cause my dad. I’m bad and I—” He chokes. “I need to be punished.” 

“Is that what this is?” Gil asks, touching the spot on his own head which mirrors the bruise on Malcolm’s. “Punishment?” 

“Yeah,” Malcolm says, looking up at him finally. “I...he c-came up...to my room. And I didn’t have the door locked like I shoulda. And I...I got scared. I got really scared, Gil. I don’t like him. He always stares at me really weird, Gil. It makes me feel bad inside. But he grabbed me, and I—I screamed for Momma, and he covered my mouth and—” He touches the bruise, wincing. “He hit me. He hits me a lot. But he hit me _hard_ and—and when I ran, he—he pushed me down the stairs. And it _hurt._ Gil, I’m...I’m really hurting. It broke my phone. But he told me if I went to the police he’d kill me. But I kept running, and—so that’s why you can’t. I don’t want to die, Gil.”

Gil swallows hard. Malcolm feels so bad for making Gil look so upset. 

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm whispers. “Please don’t be mad. I told you you shouldn’t know.”

“No.” Gil holds his hand, breathing deeply. “Do you know how brave you are for telling me this, Malcolm? Do you? I’ve never known anyone so brave.”

“You...really?” Malcolm asks, awed, his tearful eyes wide. Gil thinks...he’s _brave?_ “But I’m...scared.”

“Come here.” Gil reaches for him, picks him up, and carefully lifts him up and over into the front seat, holding him tight against his chest. “That’s what bravery is, Malcolm. It’s doing something even when it’s scary. And that’s what you’ve done. You’ve come to me, just like you should have. Just like I told you. Because you know you can trust me, don’t you?”

Malcolm whimpers softly, nodding, and nuzzles further into him. “Yes. You’re...I think I _only_ trust you.” 

“Then trust me. I’m going to take care of this.” He takes another breath, and pets Malcolm’s hair. “I just...I need to ask you a question, and I’m going to need you to keep being brave, okay? I need to know...if he ever touched you, Malcolm. Touched you where he shouldn’t have.”

“My back,” Malcolm says, “Kept touching my back. But that’s it. But I—” He bites his lip, curling close. “I thought—I thought tonight—”

He starts to sob again, and Gil grasps the back of his neck, pressing his fingers in just right. “Okay. Okay. That’s good. Thank you for telling me, Malcolm. I promise, he’s never going to be able to hurt you again, okay? Trust me.”

Malcolm nods, closing his eyes, and trusts.

He has to, because he can’t go back to that.

**x**

He watches from Gil’s car as rain drizzles down, as blue and red lights reflect off his mother’s home for the second time in just a few years. 

There’s no paparazzi. This man isn’t someone famous. He’s just a man. A bad man. Someone who sells bad things, Gil had told him, and who’s going to go away for a long time.

His mother is crying at the doorway. She’s begging them not to take him. She doesn't know that Gil and Malcolm just spent three hours at the hospital, making sure his bruised ribs weren't broken in the fall.

The man is glaring straight at Malcolm as they lead him away in cuffs, and Malcolm shrinks down, starts to shake and cry just as Gil opens the door and gets inside.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“He’s gonna kill me,” Malcolm whispers, “he’s gonna kill me! Momma’s gonna pay to get him out, and he’s gonna come back, and—”

  
“Malcolm. Hey. Come here.” 

Malcolm can’t ever say no. Gil’s arms are so warm, so safe, and he’d be crazy not to take advantage of it when he can, of comfort he hasn’t had since his father was arrested. 

“We’re not going to let that happen, okay? We’re going to fight for no bail, and we’re going to file a restraining order for you, okay? Right now. You’re coming down to do it right now.”

“What’s that mean?” 

“It means if he ever comes near you again, we can arrest him just for that, and he’ll go back to jail.”

“You can do that?” Malcolm asks, voice shaking in his relief, and Gil hugs him close. 

“Yeah. We’re gonna do everything we can to keep him away from you, okay? I promise you. I’m going to protect you.”

“I trust you,” Malcolm manages, and it’s something he’s never said before, because he’s never _felt_ it before. “I love you.”

“Oh, kid,” Gil says, kissing his head. “I love you, too. I really do, Malcolm. Like you’re my kid. Hell, you _are_ my kid, far as I’m concerned.”

Malcolm has never, ever felt more loved, and he feels his cheeks go hot from emotion, tears in his eyes again. “I’d like that.”

“Me, too. Jackie loves you even _more,_ and you know she does.”

“Can I still...can I still come home tonight, with you?” 

Gil smiles, nodding. “Yeah. And I’m gonna fix you the best meal you’ve ever had, alright? Anything you want.”

“...Spaghetti?” Malcolm asks, and Gil laughs, starting the car.

“The best goddamn spaghetti you’ve ever had, kid. Promise.”

**x**

The man, as it turns out, is already on parole, and therefore bail is entirely denied. Malcolm weeps in relief at the news.

Weeps even harder when he finds he has to go on the stand at his trial.

“I promise,” Gil says, cradling him. “I promise, this is for the best. This is going to help him get put away even longer. Okay?”

So he does. He goes up, dressed in his best, and shakes violently as he sees the man at the table, glaring at him just as menacing as ever.

“What did the defendant tell you, Mr. Whitly, when you threatened to call the police?” asks his lawyer, and Malcolm chokes.

“He told me he’d k-kill me,” he says. He looks at Gil, who gestures him on, and chokes again. “S-said he’d...he’d...he’d...s-slit my throat and...w-watch me bleed out...and th-then...that...that...th-the...the police w-wouldn’t find all of me.”

“You're brave for telling us that. Thank you for being here. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Gil smiles at him, and it’s the only thing keeping him together.

The man gets fifteen years, and Malcolm sobs, clutching Gil’s jacket and Jackie’s hand in the courtroom that reminds him too much of his father. 

Fifteen years in jail and a restraining order after, and Malcolm feels like maybe, maybe he can be safe from him.

His mother is upset, but surprisingly it’s mostly at herself. She curses herself for not knowing, curses Malcolm for not telling her, and then drinks again. 

That weekend, Gil and Jackie take Malcolm _and_ Ainsley to the aquarium, and Malcolm spends ten minutes running back and forth to follow a dolphin playing with him on the other side of the glass.

“I want to swim with them one day,” Malcolm says breathlessly, and Gil laughs, ruffling his hair, Ainsley resting on his hip and asleep with her thumb in her mouth. 

“You can do anything you want, Malcolm,” Gil says. “Remember that. Okay? Anything you want.”

“Then I wanna be like you,” he says. “I wanna save people.”

Gil’s smile is tearful, and he wipes at his eyes. Jackie calls him a softie, giggling by his side. 

“You already have,” he says. “So many people, Malcolm.”

“Us included,” Jackie says.

Malcolm smiles, and goes back to chasing the dolphin around as the people he pretends now are his parents watch him, holding hands. 

He'll be just like Gil one day. He just knows it.


End file.
